The Runemark- Gyre
by April29Roses
Summary: The Runemark appears for the first time, as Arthur and Merlin try to help a village that is under a perilous spell. A mysterious, unknown enemy and their own secrets threaten to tear apart their trust and friendship. Can Arthur find the strength within to believe what he cannot understand? This is the first in a four part story arc set in season 5. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

Merlin bounded along the corridor with all the excitement of a five year old with a new toy. He had been working on perfecting a spell for months now and he thought had found the perfect vehicle to test it. He toed open the heavy wooden door, only to find Gaius' owlish, startled gaze upon him.

"Sorry!" He smiled as he barreled through, dropping a parchment from the odd assortment in his arms and started to deposit them on the nearest empty space.

"Have you been tormenting Geoffrey, again Merlin?" The old man looked at his ward acidly, but he was easily disarmed by the young man's smile.

"I found these in the market Gaius! Look! I believe these sheets are from Egypt and they contain spells of some kind!" He shuffled through the sheaves of parchment he had just put down and held one up for inspection. The writing was strange and angular, like pictures.

"Ah, yes", noted Gaius with interest. "They are completely incomprehensible, Merlin. I have seen such writing before. Scholars have been trying to understand them for years." The old man fingered the sheet of ancient writing, respect in his careful, gnarled fingers. He produced his magnifying glass to peer carefully at the drawing and the writing that surrounded it. They were undoubtedly very, very old, fragile and powdery with age. He covered his fingertips with a handkerchief before he picked up the sheaf of paper and motioned for his ward to do the same.

But Merlin was not there to pay attention. He was rummaging enthusiastically in his room. He returned to stand next to Gaius, joining him in his careful inspection of the document. He held out a translucent black stone. It was a piece of smoky quartz, polished smooth, it's natural form erased into a perfect oval of translucent darkness. Merlin muttered a word beneath his breath and a silvery light surrounded it.

"Merlin", began Gaius in a warning tone.

The warlock answered with an apologetic grin, that did nothing to hide his delight. "I've been working on this for a long while, Gaius. It's a translation stone. Most magical texts tend to be written by people who have magic. Most of them have mind speech and if they do, this stone allows me to channel their understanding of the text into words I can understand. You can't imagine how long it took me to work out the kinks. But it couldn't be worse than trying to memorize those Latin declensions..." He stopped himself. Gaius had raised his eye brow threateningly, and Merlin did his best to look meek.

The old physician, for his part, was doing his best to hide the amazement he felt thinking of the novel spell Merlin had concocted simply to avoid his Latin lessons. He had wondered at Merlin's sudden progress in the subject. His annoyance faded as his curiosity began to get the better of him as he looked at the writing.

"It works wonderfully on Greek and Latin, Gaius. These are pages from a text known as the Egyptian Book of the Dead."

"A dark area, Merlin."

"Perhaps. Here, feel them for yourself," he said as he handed another page to Gaius.

"I don't 'feel' them at all," said the old man grumpily as he looked closely at the writing once more. The picture showed a hawk-headed figure of a man with the sun behind his head. It's unwinking gaze from the parchment suddenly sent a shiver down his back as he looked across at his ward. For some reason, he thought of the Runemark, but he put it from his mind. No connection existed between the mysterious incident of a month ago, and the strange writing in front of him. There was no sense of evil, but danger was real. And yet...

"Wait, Merlin!"

His words came too late. The young warlock was sliding the stone along the columns of writing, his eyes half-shut listening with his interior speech to the translation stone. He appeared to be repeating some sort of prayer, not exactly an incantation

Gaius leaned close to hear Merlin's words as he sank deeper into the power of his translation spell, his voice quiet and precise as he formed his words.

"Let our chant fill the void. So that those who dwell in the house of night, will know the chariot of the sun is drawn by the grateful dead". The glow from the stone faded as the pair, young warlock and old physician, looked at each other.

"What can that mean?" Merlin spoke first.

"I have absolutely no idea." The old man peered again at the parchment. "Where did you get these Merlin?"

"From the frankincense trader, who is set up at the east gate this market, " said Merlin promptly. "We've bought herbs from him before and sometimes, he has other things... you know..."

"Things that are so bloody dangerous, you would have to be crazy to touch them," said the old man bristling in a sudden burst of caution. Perhaps these could be traced back to Merlin. The paranoia that kept him safe during the Purge seeped into his old heart like a wave from the past. The fear must have shown in his eyes.

Merlin's gaze was immediately apologetic.

"They just look like worthless old drawings, Gaius. No one wants them or can understand them anyway! You said it yourself!"

The old man nodded silently, somewhat nonplussed to have his words come back to him.

"Things are a little better since Uther died," began Merlin cautiously. "No one asks as many questions. You know the trader, Yousef. He has never been anything but fair and reliable."

"It is still forbidden Merlin. Arthur is not his father, but the ban remains in place. Never forget you are in special peril..."

Merlin held his hand up in a unintentional imitation of Arthur, asking his mentors silence as he interrupted.

"This is an old argument, Gaius."

"This is an unfamiliar magic to me, Merlin, and very ancient. You are never cautious enough!" But Merlin only pocketed the stone with a jaunty grin and picked up the messy stack of sheets and made room for their meal on the table.

They sat down to eat, both of them still discussing the ancient texts in hushed tones, Gaius was just as excited as Merlin. They debated long into the night. In Merlin's small room they spread out the texts and Merlin used the stone. Gaius mastered it as well, but could not sustain reading as long as his ward, but he smiled deeply as he slid the stone along. His eyes were sharp as they finally packed away the Egyptian writings and the various groups of ancient texts Gaius had brought down from his library walls, into Merlin's well used hidey hole. Gaius felt an unease attack him even in the midst of the thrill of discovery that had caught him into a breathless inspection of the complicated texts. He looked up at Merlin once again, as they parted for the night, each to his bed.

"Be careful Merlin." The young warlock paused, his own magic senses stirring as he heard Gaius' simple words. He felt an almost precognitive shiver of dread race through him, but he smiled instead. He lay a comforting hand on the shoulder of his mentor.

But it was hard to sleep that night and for some strange reason the Runemark rose in his thoughts and refused to slip into the background. Even in his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

It was only two days later that that warning he had received came back to his mind forcefully. Reports had come of a sorcerer in one of the northern villages. The smith from the village had been sent with a report, as he had been apprenticed with Guinevere's father as a boy long ago. The connection only made Merlin's heart sink further as the report came directly to Arthur because of it.

A sorcerer was said to be blighting the new crops. The plants emerged but immediately blackened in the sun. The soil was dry, broken into chunks and unable to absorb water. These kind of reports almost always ended badly. Either some innocent was accused and the evil that Arthur found was blind prejudice that swept away everything in it's path, or there was a rogue sorcerer of some kind, some of them twisted by hatred and others by righteousness, at the core of the report. All were tragic to deal with and the warlock knew that with each intervention, the danger of exposing his magic grew more dangerous. Even beyond that knowledge, there was a feeling of true doom that clung to his every movement as he readied Arthur for the trip.

Merlin still shivered as he remembered the darkening of Arthur's gaze as the report had been discussed. Arthur had come to dread these reports as well, for they stirred up memories of his father, and the excesses of the Purge. For a brief, panicked second as Merlin had caught the king's eye, he had thought that Arthur would forbid him to go with him. Of course, that wasn't true. That made no sense, he had chided himself later. Even he had to admit to himself, he was acting like a child. He put his unnatural worries from is mind again.

Arthur was riding ahead; Merlin had hung back joking with Gawaine as they made their way on the last leg of their journey to the village. As Merlin entered the clearing from the cool green shadows of the forest, he felt a prick of danger, and the feelings of unease and dread that had been plaguing him came together and twisted tightly in his chest. The source of which was immediately apparent.

He saw Arthur glance back at him, just as he glimpsed the blackened mound that stood in a cleared section of the meadow. Merlin's heart began to race, and he instinctively swallowed, the prickle of dread deepened. The was a pole darkened with smoke. Now the details were clear. Blackened remains were held to the pole with chains and manacles. The heavy smell of burning was in the air still. This had happened a few days before, but the acrid stink of it revolted Merlin to the deepest part of himself. But he could not look away.

The whole group slowed to a stop by the grisly scene.

'A sorcerer, " said Arthur flatly.

"Or some one accused of it," said Merlin softly.

Still he could not turn his eyes away. In the rictus of death, the figure still looked tortured, it's twisted arms unnaturally strained, the mouth of the skull open in a silent scream. In places, bone gleamed whitely where animals had torn at the body. Merlin felt revulsion. This death was too close to his own worst nightmares to leave him unaffected. He gagged as he turned his horse away. He was sickened by the feelings that roiled out of the dark ash and the screams for help he heard in his mind. A man pleading with his neighbors, the fire... He gagged again, moving away from the miasma that surrounded the pole.

"Arthur!"

The blond king turned to look, his eyes steely.

"The answer is no, Merlin."

"But..."

"You want to bury the body. Leave it be Merlin. This is obviously the sorcerer in the report! Just be thankful, this evil has been contained and the sorcerer was made to pay for his crimes. His death will end the spell on the crops. I do not know the details of what happened here, so until we find out more, no one will touch the body. The purge is over but the law still stands."

"Arthur, please. This isn't the sorcerer."

The king did not dignify his wild statement, but paused, looking directly at his manservant. The resolve in Arthur's eyes said there was no chance of changing his mind. Merlin would have given much for a moment of doubt in those familiar blue eyes. Merlin continued silent, his head bowed and his back stiff, as if he was pleading silently. At last, after a moment, without saying a word, he turned his horse away from Arthur's and returned to the area where the blackened stump and it's grisly center demanded that no one look away.

The other knights were silent. Leon looked carefully between his liege and his fellow knights. Gawaine was separated a bit from the group; Elyan, Mordred and Percival completed the circle.

"I would bury the dead," said Merlin, a little too loudly into the uncomfortable quiet.

"I will say no more," said Arthur coldly and with that he wheeled his horse and headed off down the trail. The knights followed him, Gawaine and Mordred the last of all. Merlin could not move away. Taking a deep breath at last, he turned away to follow his king.

As they entered the village, the people quickly gathered , many faces lightened and full of hope that the King himself, had come to help, the other half darkened and still full of suspicion. The blacksmith's apprentice who had brought the news to Camelot, introduced them to the unofficial leader of the town. Garret, the headman, was a tall farmer, with well worn hands and a quiet gaze. He looked a level headed sort, but Merlin knew better than to judge too quickly.

It hardly took any time at all to see the power of the spell that had laid waste to this village. The headman spoke quietly as he rode beside the King, gesturing at the fields surrounding the village. Although the fields were tilled and well kept, the young plants were blackened and limp on the ground. Even the smaller herb plots near the homes were affected. There was an air of eldritch decay, something strange that ate at the senses, like the smell of mold in the wet, until it made itself invisible simply by it's overwhelming presence. The phantom of hunger was already in the eyes of the people as they looked at their dead fields.

Merlin rolled his shoulders instinctively, as if throwing off some shadow of miasma, as they rode past the blackened shoots. In some places the very ground was broken into rough hard chunks. Arthur's back was straight, his air almost defiantly bold, but he was clearly disturbed by the scene as well.

"We believed we had found the sorcerer, your majesty. A local musician by the name of Jerome. We quickly executed him, hoping our fields and crops would revive. But he must have been a sorcerer of great power, your Majesty. Not even his death has ended the spell."

"I know enough of magic to tell you Garret, that you haven't caught the sorcerer who is at the root of this. Clearly there is still dark magic at work here." The king glanced around, taking in the breadth of the fields affected.

"I have many questions, but some things I will need to know immediately. How far does the devastation extend?"

"At least a mile out from here your Majesty."

"Has it been growing?"

"No, my Lord. It appeared all at once and has remained the same."

"Sir Leon, please meet with the men of the village and organize a watch to border the perimeter of the village. Elyan, Mordred and Gawaine, since we came into the village from the south, you three ride out in the other directions to find the border of the spell , look for any signs of changes or anything else unusual. Return and report to me as quickly as you can. There is magic at work, so take no chances."

As the knights mounted up and rode away at top speed, Arthur glanced around at the crowd, so many ,more faces hopeful than just a few minutes before. He smiled briefly. "Sir Percival will assist you in gathering such food stores as you have and share them amongst the families until we are able to stop this sorcerer."

"Your Majesty..."

But Arthur never heard what Garret was planning on saying. A wind arose, gathering strength quickly and raising the dust and chunks of dried earth into a spinning whirlwind. The group of men began to run but the force of the wind shoved them to their knees.

Merlin could barely see Arthur's outline in the maelstrom of dust that separated them, even though they were within a few feet of each other. With his eyes narrowed against the wind, his magical senses were tingling, driving his thoughts. This wind was too fierce and too strong to be natural. He could hear Arthur's voice raised above the storm, ordering the men to stand together, to link arms and flatten to the ground. But the wind was only growing in strength; the whirlwind attacked trees that screamed as their roots were torn and the branches snapped and broke with huge cracks, flying through the air and falling to the ground, still moving, turning, caught in the deadly power of the wind.

Merlin's eyes streamed tears as he swung his head from side to side, fearing he would not find the sorcerer who had spawned this wind. There was a flash of gold to the left and then to the right. There was a crash beside them and a scream of agony. Arthur combat crawled away from the group toward the sound. Merlin threw himself towards Arthur, as he glimpsed another flash of gold to his right. And just as suddenly as it had begun, the wind stopped. Merlin dropped to his knees in a sudden sprawl as did Arthur. Before he could move,a branch fell from the sky engulfing Arthur and the other injured man. There was a horrid silence.

Merlin scrabbled frantically at the fallen branches. In a moment of panic,his eyes flashed carelessly, as he pulled at the branches and flung them aside. Arthur came partially into view, still trapped beneath heavy branches and detritus of leaves. The secret warlock dropped to his knees, throwing himself as close to where Arthur was lying as he could; hoping he could feel for a pulse. He prayed no one had seen his eyes in the confusion and surprise. The townspeople leaped into action, also tearing at the debris, even as Merlin held a quieting hand up so he could listen for a response.

"Arthur," he called again and he heard a groan. A crowd was gathering around the King, voices urging that he be moved immediately. But Merlin would have none of their frightened interjections. He spoke only to the King.

"Arthur? Arthur, don't move. Can you hear me."

He heard a choking sound and then a wheezed response, that sounded like his name.

There was no sound from the other man. As branches were moved , Merlin could see Arthur lying prone, one hand was up over his head in a protective gesture and the other beneath him. Touching Arthur, he could feel his friend's vital energy pulsing through their tenuous contact. Satisfied and breathing a sigh of relief, he heard a sudden wail and his eyes focused on the fallen man beside Arthur. His heart sank as he encountered only blank lifeless eyes and the cries of a young woman who flung herself down beside him, crying out for John to answer her. Merlin closed his eyes in sadness and sudden fear. Cries of "sorcery" rose up from the crowd. The sounds of grief stuck his heart like knives

Merlin's heart seized in the familiar fear that haunted his every duty to the king. Arthur had nearly been killed and the sorcerer who had sent that wind was still close by. His gut began to shake in atavistic shock, but his hands were still gentle and sure as he touched the King. He ignored the screams and cries around him, his world shrunk to sight of Arthur lying crushed in the greenery. His hands traced over the king's head and neck searching, evaluating. "Don't move, Arthur."

To his immediate annoyance and everlasting relief, Arthur gave a sudden groan and pushed up to sit, grunting involuntarily with pain. His armor had protected him somewhat from the force of the blow but he panted for air, as he looked over at Merlin with a glare. His armor was covered in mud, and as Merlin leaned forward to help Arthur up, his eyes glanced down to the shallow hallow where Arthur had been lying. To his horror, the Runemark glittered balefully from the dark wet earth and the crushed bits of wood and leaves. Arthur looked down, following Merlin shocked line of sight until his gaze rested on the coin that had haunted both their nightmares for a month since their visit with the Disir.

Merlin picked it up, his magical senses jangling in fear. He no longer felt the presence of the magic he had sensed earlier during the attack of the wind, but the cause of that nightmare compounded in the new challenge that had just made itself known. Merlin felt a twisting, aching sense of foreboding, even as Arthur looked at him, and the voices of the villagers rose in a spiral blossom of panic around the two friends. The helpless, heartbreaking sobs of the woman cradling her dead husband sank into them with all the power of prophecy.

Arthur's first trial had arrived.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin sat with the Runemark in his hand, his eyes hooded, quiescent. But in his heart, his magic raged, vibrations of the magical coin thrumming through his awareness like a drumbeat to war. That idea did little to assuage his worry. Grimly, he buried it deep in the saddlebags and swore he would not touch it again until they returned to Camelot.

Arthur had taken command of the situation in the clearing as soon as he caught his breath. The knights had returned sooner than thought possible and began to help organize the village into teams of watches. There had not been a trace of distraction in Arthur's eyes throughout the evening, focused on calming and supporting the villagers while they mourned the dead and readied a hunt for the sorcerer. But as the night deepened and the royal party retired for the night, the king's familiar guise of invincibility slipped from his face along with his armor. Freed of it's weight, he looked immeasurably tired.

Arthur stretched, moving experimentally without the bracing of his chainmail, feeling every blow he had taken and hissing a bit in surprise at the pain.

"I'll be sore, tomorrow."

"I think you're sore, now," laughed Merlin.

He had been exploring in his pack for the salve that Gaius concocted for such emergencies, but when he found it, the king was already asleep, his shirt half off, and his boots still on. Merlin tugged said boots off, rubbed Arthur down with the salve and covered him with a blanket, and he returned to the fire to ponder what he had seen in those wild moments before the Runemark had made it's appearance.

He had seen flashes of gold, golden light that he had known to be sorcerous. He remembered the flashes from either side. There had to be two sorcerers at work then, working together. Whoever they were, an innocent had payed the price for their spell and they had done nothing to stop the villager's murder of the musician. The image of the man's twisted remains ran like shiver down his magical senses, down to his core.

Arthur's eyes had been unafraid, almost angry as he recognized the Runemark in his servant's hand. It was the same look Merlin remembered crossing Arthur's face when Uther used to judge him less than adequate for the task to come. Arthur would rather die than fail. Arthur was not as reckless as he had been when he was prince, but the sight of that familiar look had deepened Merlin's fear.

The empty eyes of the dead man who had been in the accident with Arthur haunted him still, along with the cries of his family. His death was the final straw that raised the spectre of supernatural fear again. The fear had roiled through the crowd like an evil spell, warping and changing them. Soon, very soon, fear would choke reason and they would became willing to destroy what they could not understand. He prayed their fear would not be visited on him, but he hardly dared go down that line of thought. Hadn't he seen the pyre?

While these people seemed reasonable and kind, they had executed a neighbor without proof. It was hard to believe the village that took them in and fed them the best of their meagre stores had killed a man out of fear of sorcery and hunger. But Merlin knew the fear of hunger. He had known it well throughout his childhood. He knew a winter without enough food would bring a spring that flowered into small silent graves, empty chairs at humble tables and broken hearts. And as for the fear of sorcery, that was like an old wound. Always a source of pain, it existed, ready to erupt into a crisis given just the right circumstances.

The sorcerers who had delivered the Runemark had no care for the suffering they caused, and his heart raged. It was precisely these callous actions that gave rise to such deep seated fear of magic. It compelled him to action and there was only one action that could bring him peace on this night. He resolved to move on it immediately.

He glanced around the room Garrett had provided for the king. Gawaine was sleeping on one side of the door. The other knights had been spread out through the village to mount their own watches.

"Gawaine." The dark haired young man prodded his friend awake and he came alert in a moment. His eyes immediately searched Merlin's face for a clue, and he held up a silencing finger to his lips. Quietly, they slid out the door. "I have something to do, Gawaine. Keep watch while I am gone, will you?"

"Not alone, Merlin. You know the danger...," began the long haired knight, whispering urgently. But the servant shook his head.

"Please Gawaine. Stay here and guard Arthur. I need to do something. I really can't say more." His voice trailed off as he looked down, knowing he sounded daft. Gawaone clapped on the shoulder, his grip heavy and comforting, and he looked up. "I trust you, Merlin," he said with a wink. "I'll tell the princess you went to the tavern without me," he said. "I might even cry." His jest did little to hide the worry in his voice. So Merlin smiled, hiding the sinking feeling in his heart.

As he snuck through the unfamiliar darkness, he used his mind's eye to find his way to the darkened center of the clearing just beyond the gates of the village. It drew him by the echoing screams. He wondered if he could quiet the spirit, remembering the Druid encampment where so many had met their end, and wondering about the spell that was used.

Steeling himself for the gruesome task at hand, he broke the chains holding the remains to the pole, with a blow of the axe he had brought with him in his belt. As it cut through, he felt a shock of twisting vibration. Like a chord struck. Music. He was hearing music, and people were dancing. He heard a high nervous giggle and the music gathered strength. There were flowers in the girl's long brown hair, and it twirled in the firelight and there was the sound of laughter and clapping. The music ran and climbed, it flowered and bore fruit and it exploded like joy in the heart of the crowd. Music. The crowd. Fear suddenly seized him like some hapless forest creature and shook him. Panting, he sank down next to the blackened corpse as the clapping turned to jeers and shouting, and as screams for mercy became screams of unendurable pain, until it was all blackness. He could not bear it.

Merlin did not mean to use his magic, but his feelings overwhelmed him and before he knew it, the blackened corpse was sliding down, down into the ground; the skull turning like a man moving in his sleep. The gaping jaw shut as it slipped from his sight, for all the world, as if it gave a sigh of relief. Golden motes flowed over the blackened stump that has prisoned the victim, falling into chunks of broken splinters that buried themselves like a ring of swords around the musician's remains. In the end , there was no mark upon the earth, only the forest cover. While Merlin felt a certain comfort in his action, he could not hide from the fear that his own end beckoned to him, threatened him. Some deepest part of him quivered as he sunk his hands into the now damp earth.

He heard a noise and he stilled in fear. Someone was near. Fearing it was Arthur, he turned. There were two dark figures, just beyond the edge of where the execution pyre had stood.

"Emrys"

Their mental voices echoed in the secret warlock's mind, calling his name. The two men sank to their knees and bowed their heads. When they looked up at him after a heartbeat of respect, Merlin began to feel fear. Their eyes were clear, lucent, almost joyful as they held out their hands to him, palm up in a gesture of peace. Their druid tattoos were clearly visible in the bright moonlight. "Emrys. We knew you would come."

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"We have waited for the prophecy to be fulfilled, " said the slighter of the two men, in a tone of respect. "Command us , Emrys and we will serve you."

"Enough," said Merlin. He turned, slipping into the shadows where the moonlight did not reach. The two sorcerers remained as if rooted to the spot. Merlin moved around them, looking at them, circling, ever circling around them in the shadows for a long, silent time. At last, he spoke from the shadows.

"Did you bring the Runemark?"

"No, my lord, but we rejoice at it's presence. Arthur's doom is upon him..."

Merlin's voice sliced through the gloom.

"Did you set the spell on the crops?"

"Yes, Lord Emrys. We heard rumors, whispers that you had been seen. That the day of our salvation was at hand. When we heard that you had come to Camelot, to the very heart of the terror that decimates our people and that you served at the court of Arthur, we knew the time had come. We came to serve you. We set the spell so that you would find us."

The bigger of the two men continued.

"We never thought you actually worked as a servant of the king, my lord. We thought... but, but... we know your plan is brilliant. You will strike from within! Is now the time,Lord Emrys?"

Merlin continued as if he had not heard their answers that froze him to his soul. "Because of your spell, this village will not have enough food stored for winter. They may starve or have to leave their homes..."

"Haven't our women and children endured hunger for years because of the Uther Pendragon's endless persecution. If one village starves, how is that even partial payment for what they have done to us!" The slighter man spoke again, with a passion in his vice that struck at Merlin like venom.

"They murdered an innocent musician out of fear of the spell you set on them. You knew he had done nothing and yet you let the village burn him."

"I am not responsible for their brutality," said the bigger man, with a defiant tone.

"I am not here to debate anything," said Merlin more forcefully. "What is your connection to the Runemark?"

"Your lordship knows the doom of the Runemark flows only from the judgement of the Disir. We were as surprised as you, Emrys. "

"You know nothing of me," hissed Merlin in sudden anger and he was floored to see the look of fear that blossomed in their eyes at his disapproval. He felt ashamed, but his disbelief and anger at their actions and it's mammoth consequences for this innocent village struck at him with a new and unfamiliar dread. Never before had he felt himself the focus of so much misplaced faith. Never had he dreamed he could be the locus of violence perpetrated by a misguided and angry sorcerers. He could not believe they were looking for his approval.

"You know nothing about me," he said again, but more softly. His silence echoed like lightning. The sounds of the forest rustled around them. When he spoke again there was an implicit threat in his stance and in his voice. "You must remove your spell and leave this place. I will speak to you later, but for now, you will do as I ask."

The pair both opened their mouths to protest, but Merlin felt something brush past him. It was like a hand on his shoulder, but no one was there. Even as he turned, his heart constricted in his chest. Arthur was standing not six feet away.

He could not read Arthur's expression in the shadows of the forest. Behind him, Merlin felt the pull of a magic wind. The slighter of the two men caught him by the arm as the spell took hold.

"Come with us," he cried desperately but Merlin pushed him off, his eyes never breaking from Arthur's. The tattered black whispers of their escape swirled between king and servant. There was a terrible silence. As terrible as the crash of the trees that had almost ended Arthur's life earlier in the day. Both servant and king looked at the now bare spot where the remains of the murdered musician had been only hours earlier. Still Arthur said nothing. Merlin hardly dared to breathe as the moments passed.

"Come with me," the king said at last.


	4. Chapter 4

They did not speak again, until they reached the room where Arthur had been sleeping earlier.

"Make sure no one enters," he said tersely to Gawaine, who looked unsure and grim. He gave Merlin a look as the king entered the room, and the servant tried to smile in return, but his heart was thundering in his chest.

Arthur poured himself a cup of wine and neared the fire, warming himself and refusing to look at his manservant.

"What were you doing," he asked softly, at last.

"I went to bury the musician..."

"I forbade it."

"He was innocent! The attack on you later in the day proved that. I..."

"Enough! Go on." Arthur's voice was strained.

"Two men were there. I began to question them about what had happened."

"I heard you tell them to remove the spell and go..." Arthur turned to look Merlin full in the eye. Anger flashed in his eyes and burned into Merlin's thoughts. It blazed like a forest in the summer. The wind of its rising fanned it larger and Arthur threw the cup angrily at the hearth as he spat at Merlin.

"What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind? You were bargaining with sorcerers and how can you explain that!"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"I would believe anything of your lunacy! You could have been killed, Merlin! Did you think they would remove the spell because you asked politely? Because you were going to let them go? Are you mad? They would have killed you and we would have found your dead body in the morning!" Merlin realized that Arthur had only heard the very end of his conversation with the sorcerers. The relief of that realization washed through him like a tide, and he slumped with a sudden gasp of breath that he immediately hid. But nothing escaped Arthur when he was focused and angry.

"Now, you understand," he said derisively. Merlin could hear both anger and relief in his friend's voice. The warlock should have been thankful, he should be sighing in relief that once again he had escaped a confrontation with the truth. But all he could do was pray. He closed his eyes, begging whatever power governed the impossible to send him just one bit of grace. He could not bear to lie to Arthur again. His heart rebelled at the thought of adding to his dark history of lying to his king, whose trust was so implicit that he suspected nothing, even now, but Merlin's typical, pig headed disobedience and general idiocy. The king turned again to the fire.

"You went to bury the sorcerer when I told you not to do so."

"He was innocent, a wandering musician. He harmed no one, Arthur. He deserved better than for his remains to be left like those of a dead animal by the side of the road."

"Did you think of how your action would resound in the village? These people are frightened and fighting an enemy they cannot understand. This raises more fears. Haven't the people of this village suffered enough?"

"The true sorcerers revealed themselves."

The king was silent again. "Yes, they did. But for what reason?" His voice was thoughtful again as he continued. "I saw both of them, but not clearly in the darkness. I surprised them...if only I had known, I could have killed them. They fled quickly. " He paused. "There will still be consequences for your disobedience, Merlin. You have ignored my commands too many times, and though I don't question your motive, I can't pretend this didn't happen. It could have cost you your life. We will speak of this again when we return to Camelot. I cannot say how the village will react to what you have done."

His servant said nothing, but stood contritely by his side.

"What happened to the body and the pole? I saw no burial mound, nor did I see the body."

" When I got there..." Merlin stopped for some reason and looked at Arthur once more. There was something more in his stance, in his eyes. As if he hoped for something. But at last, he spoke again. "He was buried by magic."

Arthur took the information at face value, neither questioning or seeking more information. "So no one really knows what they did, but the body is gone."

"Yes, Sire, " said Merlin. The lack of spirit in his voice merited another quick glance from the king. For some reason he could not understand, his servant's eyes were filling with tears. Arthur told himself, that Merlin was merely acting the girl again from the shock of realizing how close he came to death and the relief of their discussion, but his heart could not truly believe that line of thought. Despite all he said to the contrary, he knew Merlin to be fearless. The idea would not quiet as he turned away.

Arthur called Gawaine into the room and began to brief him about the happenings at the pyre, and as they discussed what they had learned from the sorcerers, Merlin's heart ached unceasingly behind his screen of lies.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The fire had burned low to embers, and the handful of men that gathered around the fire looked at each other with a furtive pride and exhausted purpose. James and Drew had returned from their meeting with Emrys in deep confusion, and now sat discussing the encounter with their friends. They shared in a bowl of meager stew with a few lumps of left over horsemeat and some carefully saved grain, along with a few herbs from the forest. It's taste was still bland and its only virtue was keeping body and soul together. The men poked dispiritedly at their food.

"I had not thought to find him so...so loyal to Arthur. How is it possible?" The thin younger man looked up at his friend, who put his arm around him with the genuine warmth of friendship.

"Perhaps it is not loyalty, James," said the older, burlier man. "Their fates are said to be bound together, perhaps he knows he cannot leave the side of the King for now. Perhaps there are reasons we cannot understand. But surely, he sees our suffering."

"And he had never met you," chimed Thomas, a young man with extravagant blond curls and scarred hands. "For all he knew, your appearance tonight was a trap. He had no reason to trust you."

"In the court of Arthur, Emrys must guard every word he speaks to escape detection. He has no idea if you are loyal to his destiny or if you are a trap that might expose him to Arthur's attention. Can you imagine his courage to do that, every day? Alone, knowing he could be revealed at any time, he waits at the very heart of Camelot for the moment to strike. We do not know his plans, but for now he must be convinced of our loyalty. I am willing to do as he says, no matter what it is! He is Emrys! " Drew spoke slowly and the other men nodded in a agreement.

"He does not know we are waiting for his command," whispered James. "We must convince him, that he has only to speak and we will do his bidding. When he understands how many of us will live and die for our cause, he will rise and wipe the Pendragon from the face of Camelot and our people will be free."

"There are many roads to our fate, but only one ending," said Drew as he shrugged. "How wonderful, to be so young and so certain of the ways of the world and destiny." Thomas laughed nervously.

James had the grace to look mollified, but he took a deep drink of his watered wine and gestured his acknowledgment as Drew began to speak again.

"He is very young. He looked no older than my own Matthias," he glanced over at the dark haired slender young man, who sat sharpening his blade with the intrinsic ease of one who has practiced the chore since childhood. He looked up at his father with a smile.

"I know one day we will be free, James, and Emrys will lead us there, but I am not so certain the path will march along with your dreams of glory," said Drew sadly. "I fear it will be far more bloody and complicated than you can even conceive. But our day of freedom will come."

"He seemed so concerned with the fate of the village," the thin boy went on as if he had not heard the older man. "It sounded like their hunger mattered more to him than the hunger that our own children have suffered for an entire generation. The fate of the musician disturbed him, but it was not us who killed him. Could he not see it was the hatred in the hearts of the villagers that is the real evil? I was shocked."

"Perhaps he was testing us?"

Thomas and one of the other men nodded in response. The thought sank into the group.

"We mustn't begin to doubt Emrys," said one of the younger men. The group nodded.

" Our people have been persecuted for years. I thought he would respond first to our suffering at the hands of the Pendragon. It just surprised me, that's all. His heart is so big, I hadn't thought he would ... never mind." He stopped as he looked around at his companions. The boy smiled and a surge of warmth ran round the intimate circle. " I will not lose faith, my brothers. I know our vindication is at hand. After so long... injustice cannot remained unavenged forever, and Emrys will change it. I know it," said James, and Drew noted the nods of approval and satisfaction that ran around the group.

"To Emrys," said James as he raised his wooden cup. The group of men followed suit.

"To Emrys," they repeated as they drank deep. James produced an amulet from within his tunic and held it towards the center of the informal circle. Each of them poured more wine upon the amulet, each one muttering a single word beneath his breath as he did so. At last, James poured his wine, and golden motes shot up in the shape of leaves and blossoms that suddenly popped and faded into darkness. The smell of rotting fruit skirled up from the amulet. There had been no discussion of ending the spell despite Emrys' command. All of the men knew the spell would bring their leader to them again. Despite what their individual expectations were, they each hungered for a different world, the world that Emrys would bring into being. The time for hanging back in fear was over. Emrys was near and the time to strike was approaching. That was all that mattered.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin had not slept. He had been filled with thoughts, with feelings, with realizations that before tonight had never entered his mind.

Knowing his destiny, he had grappled a long time with finding a way to balanced his unalterable destiny to protect and bring Arthur to become the Once and Future King and the freedom to make his own decisions. Never even in his strangest dreams, even after his encounter with Alator, had he dreamed that his role as Emrys would force him into this position. He recalled the words the sorcerers had used. In their hearts he was their avenging savior, leader of revolutions. The thought sickened him. Thinking that the sorcerers had destroyed the crops to gain his attention and hopefully, his approval, filled him with a desperate sense of loathing. A whole village had it's crops destroyed, and innocent man had been killed in the most horrible way, with no proof and no mercy. They did these things in his name. His name. Emrys.

Their mad poison was so close to Arthur. He didn't know which he feared more in this moment. The old fear of having his magic revealed paled in comparison when he realized that the sorcerers believed his destiny lay along their messianic lines. They saw him as the ultimate threat, his magic power a challenge to Arthur's rule as king. They believed his betrayal of Arthur was at hand. He caught his breath as another new thought struck him.

The sorcerers had not brought the Runemark. They had openly rejoiced in Arthur's doom, but had been surprised by it's appearance. Had the Disir used present events to send the Runemark? Were they aware of the dangerous group of men that professed to know what Merlin's destiny entailed? Were they part of this vague conspiracy? The questions haunted him. He knew he would have to speak to them again as soon as he could find two sorcerers, but he could not find the words to convey his horror at what they had done and what they hoped to do.

The morning came soon and yet, too slowly, the light rising in shades of gray, without the hopeful glow of sunrise. The sun was hidden behind leaden clouds. The villagers assembled as soon as the morning light had broken, and the king had told them of them grim news of two sorcerers that had revealed themselves.

Garret, the headman, looked in shocked amazement at Merlin when told of what had happened.

"You sent your servant to speak to the sorcerers?" He seemed puzzled, as if it seemed strange that the king's servant should do such a thing on his own.

"No, he encountered them in the clearing."

"Were they burying their fellow sorcerer?"

"The man who was killed was not a sorcerer. He was a musician, a wandering minstrel. He played at many a festival, did he not?" There was an edge to Merlin's softly posed question, despite a warning glare from Arthur.

There were a few furtive looks among the farmers who stood behind Garret, but there was no murmur of assent or denial.

"What did the sorcerers tell you?"

"They claimed it was retribution for the years of the Purge under Uther Pendragon. But before they could tell me more, we were discovered."

"How do we know he's telling the truth," shouted one of the villagers. "Maybe he's the one that buried the sorcerer!"

"He wasn't a sorcerer," said Merlin evenly as he lowered his eyes.

"Enough," said Arthur. "It was I who discovered them!" He looked around at the frightened group, so willing to blame any easy scapegoat and understood that the situation was growing more skittish by the moment. He gentled his voice to reassure them. " The sorcerers immediately fled. But if we are to bring them to retribution, we must find them again."

"Perhaps they will speak to your servant again. Then we can surround and capture them," said a thin, tired looking farmer. His face was strained as he looked back at the still enchanted fields behind them. "If we stop the spell now, there still may be time to plant a crop. We have to try!"

"Yes," cried another voice and then another.

"Capture them!"

"We can trap them!"

"Send your servant, King Arthur!"

The refrain ran around the group like a wave, as he both Arthur and Merlin listened. Merlin caught Arthur's eye and nodded his assent; and though Arthur had looked concerned and stern, his expression became ever more wary, as he held up his hand for silence.

"I will send my servant and one of my knights. I and the other knights will await their signal to attack as they meet with the sorcerers. We will be close at hand. Do you think you can find them again, Merlin?"

His servant nodded quietly but said nothing more. Already he could see Gawaine trying to catch his eye, but Merlin knew that he was not the knight that he would need at his side. Far better and safer was his own choice, but he wasn't sure he could get Arthur to agree.

"This is a spell of enormous power," said Merlin directly to Arthur. "Gaius has told me that this type of spell requires the energy of a living host, or the energy of a group sorcerers working together, to maintain the spell."

"Let me take one of the knights with me as I try to find out if there are more sorcerers at hand or if it is just these two."

"That's a waste of time!" cried one of the farmers. "Who cares if it is two or six or ten sorcerers. If we set upon them at once, in a group, we will slaughter them like the pigs they are! Even a sorcerer dies if he spills enough blood!" Some of the younger village men grinned at the thought. Ill will surged through the group like an dark wind.

"We must know how the spell can be ended first. It may change how we fight," said Arthur. "It is not always as easy as you think to kill a sorcerer. We must find a way to stop the spell first, and if it involves killing the sorcerers, so be it. But there may be more that is needed. Magic is a subtle art and there are twists and turns to it," said the king, explaining it to the group of frightened farmers. Merlin was more than a little surprised at his words, but it comforted him in an odd way. Arthur actually seemed to understand the true danger.

The king moved to another room to plan the attack with his knights and Merlin. Wisely, or perhaps, unwisely, they left the villagers to discuss the turn of the events among themselves. Gawaine immediately offered to go with Merlin, but his friend would have none of it. Merlin, for his part, pleaded sincerely with Arthur, for the company of the knight of his choice on this mission.

Mordred. Despite all his misgivings about the young knight, in this moment he felt an undeniable rightness in the thought of taking the young man with him into this situation. Any other thought made him sink a little, like a sickening warning before one dared a huge jump. There were many times that he did not listen to his intuition, and many times he had cause to regret his omission. But with the Runemark at hand, and sorcerers ready to rise up against Camelot, he knew he could not afford to ignore a warning from his magic and make an error. It was a feeling he could not explain and his innate distrust of the young man muted in the gravity of the situation. Best to listen to his magic, he told himself. Even if Arthur might think him mad.

But as it turned out, Arthur immediately saw the sense in Merlin's suggestion. While these sorcerers had clearly rejected the peaceful way of the Druids, they might reveal more of their plan to Mordred and Merlin, than if it was one of the other knights. They need information first. The killing could come later, as Arthur so succinctly put it at the end of their conversation.

So it was that he found himself within in the shadows of the clearing, with Mordred, where he had first seen the blackened corpse that had set he and Arthur at odds. Before he could sigh at the recall of that particular issue, he felt the tingle that warned him of the approach of the sorcerers. The younger,smaller of the two men was in the lead. The quiet weighed heavy in the gray light of the clouds above.

Merlin dismounted, swinging his pack smoothly onto his back as he did so. Mordred did the same as the two men approached. There was a moment of silence as the four men looked at each other.

"This is a trap," said the older man quietly, with grim certainty. He heard their silent, mental assent. Neither the knight nor the servant gave the prearranged signal to Arthur and the rest of knights who even now, were waiting and watching from a copse of trees on a hillside overlooking the clearing. For some reason, Merlin looked back up where he knew Arthur and the rest of the knights were waiting. Flicking his mind's eye, he barreled his focus and met Arthur's intense gaze. The wind of the spell that would take them from this place stirred Merlin's dark hair. Moisture stung his eyes as the wind whipped past.

In the momentary silence of the transfer, even as the magic told hold of him, he relived his last private interaction with his king. He had finished dressing Arthur in the morning, and was smoothing the cape that hung from his shoulders. His friend had shrugged his hands away impatiently.

"Don't fuss," the king had said, looking carefully at the porridge Merlin had left him for breakfast. Spying the amber glaze of honey, he wolfed it down, and then looked up again at his servant, who still stood nervously behind him.

"Do you trust me, Arthur?"

The blond had given him a derisive glance.

"No, you're too much of an idiot for that."

"Really?"

"I trust you when you tell me the truth," said Arthur, with a sudden shift of mood. His arrogant disdain changing to an disinterested intensity as he looked down at the empty bowl.

"And when I don't," Merlin had retorted as lightly as he dared.

"Then I pray you will be careful," the king had said softly. Merlin's heart had constricted painfully as Arthur's fear and loyalty burned into his magical senses which had suddenly bloomed into frightening sensitivity. He wanted to remember every detail of this last moment with his friend. He felt a brush of doom shiver through him, and his eyes had clouded with the shadowy mirage of a vision.

The smell of smoke permeated him, the heavy chains bit into his wrists as he struggled and rough hands were shoving him, kicking him. Scarlet torches flared in the darkness around him. The secret warlock had shuddered in fear as he had taken one last glance at his master, as the moment changed and his vision normalized to the scene in front of him.

"Trust me", Merlin said quietly. The king had smiled and his hand had been heavy as he had batted forcefully at Merlin's head. But his smile did not quite reach his eyes, and Merlin remembered as he looked back at Arthur in that last moment, that there had been an unfamiliar desperation in his eyes. He saw that same look now.

"Trust me," he breathed once more as if Arthur could hear him. The spell took him in a whirlwind of darkness and lurching disorientation. "Please, just trust me."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N I want to say a HUGE thank-you to all who are reading and reviewing this story! Thank you Guest for your kind words. I hope you will keep reading. The story grows ever darker...

Waiting on the hillside, Arthur could feel the storm approaching. Wind was blowing up in gusts, the skies darkening from the subtle gray of the morning to roiling darkness above. He saw Merlin and Mordred dismount and approach the two sorcerers who emerged from the forest. Arthur could swear that Merlin turned and looked at him, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Although his sight was keen, he could not have seen such a small movement from so great a distance. But the second of unease persisted, and in a heartbeat that turned into an endless moment, he saw his servant and his youngest knight disappear in a swirling darkness that mirrored the scudding clouds above. There had been an echo of farewell in his last words with his friend, and the memory returned to him with an unnatural force and poignancy. He shrugged the unbearable thoughts away, chiding himself for becoming as much of a petticoat as Merlin himself.

There was an outcry around him that brought him back to the present moment. While his Camelot knights were quiet and vigilant as ever, the village farmers who had volunteered to guide them through the forest, had gotten immediately restive.

"Where have they gone?"

"How is this going to help?" He heard the whispers in varying degrees of imitation, all complaining of what had happened.

"Have you never seen true bravery?" Arthur turned softly to face the men. "I expect nothing less from my knights, but my servant has acted with equal courage. He is not a warrior but he faces this danger because it is the only way to defend your village. If you cannot see that, then you do not understand the spirit that guides me in my rule of Camelot." He looked around at the men who had surrounded him with their complaints, as they now looked shame faced at their shoes. He knew he was being unfair, but they had planned for this outcome, and still there were whispers.

With a sudden silent signal, his horse turned and cantered away towards the spot they had last seen Merlin and Mordred. Foremost in the king's thought, was a rejoining of forces. Now, as Merlin and he had planned, they could track the two sorcerers back to their point of origin and perhaps find the knight and the servant in time to rejoin and plan a cogent attack. It was a mad response at best, but Arthur had come to trust this particular brand of insanity that afflicted the Round Table, himself included. Though his heart was grim, he found himself smiling at the thought of his unorthodox circle of nobility as the rain began to pelt them. The knights followed him, Gawaine in the lead.

Not far away, under the same rising storm, Merlin's heart was thundering in his chest as the two sorcerers moved from in front of him, to reveal a small group of men, all hooded in various shades of dark cloaks, looking at him in sudden shock that he assumed was a mirror of his own expression. Under the heavy cover of clouds, the colors of the forest were muted and deep, the wind singing through the trees with a soughing wail. The smaller of the two sorcerers breathed his name.

"Emrys"

One by one, with varying degrees of amazement and joy evident in their faces, each man sank to his knees in front of King Arthur's servant. Merlin felt almost panicked; he looked back at Mordred, only to see the young knight concealing his amusement as he dropped his eyes. But the knight's hand remained on the pommel of his sword despite his expression, and Merlin found that oddly comforting.

He looked back at the small group.

"That is my name among the Druids," began Merlin softly. "But you are not Druids. Perhaps once you were, but now..." He gestured at them, even though his tone was sad and firm. "You are not Druids."

"Please my Lord. My name is James," said the younger, smaller of the two men who had brought them here. "We thought the power of the spell would let you know that you had a strong group of followers, ready to act. Your courage in remaining in Camelot is unquestionable. But we wanted you to know that you are not alone. There are many who seek a better world, where magic is free."

"That is my dream as well," said Merlin slowly, the words feeling somehow wrong.

"Come with us, my Lord. We welcome you. Ask us your questions," said the oldest man in the group, "but let us do so in a bit more comfort." He turned and held aside a low hanging branch to reveal a small opening into a clearing with some tents. Around the boundaries, just beyond two tents was a shimmer as insubstantial as a thought.

"We are well warded," said one of the group behind him. "These shields are impenetrable to human eyes in the darkness and under the cover of this storm. We will be gone by morning, but for now you are safe. Come."

Merlin went forward, Mordred close behind him. The wind was raging through the trees, the rain beginning to fall in a soaking torrent, but the warding seemed to weave an attenuating influence on the natural force of the elements as they passed through. The tents puffed a bit in the wind, a smattering of raindrops fell, while beyond the barely visible shimmer of the warding spell, a terrible storm was rising. The power and utility of the spell struck Merlin through with a profound admiration.

"This warding," he said, "I have never seen a finer crafted spell of this kind, but it requires great power. Ongoing strength."

"It is John who creates the warding," said James. "But it is our brotherhood that creates the strength for the spell itself." A wave of approval ran around the group like shared joke, when no one even needs to hear the words. When the young man introduced as John smiled, his resemblance to James was unmistakable.

"John is your brother," responded Merlin, in a questioning tone.

"Yes, I am," said John, before his brother could answer The boy's voice was deeper than expected for his age, and on a closer look, Merlin saw a sadness in his eyes that belied the youth still evident in his face and carriage. "James will never tell you Lord Emrys, but it is his gift that works the wonders you have seen here. From the strength of the warding spell to the blighting of the crops, it is James' special gift that that binds our strength together, like a single weapon. Working together with James, we can achieve far greater magic than we ever could on our own."

"I have never seen its like," said Mordred softly.

"What would you know of magic, knight," cried one of the men. Merlin felt Mordred bristle at those words, but there was still more information to be gained, so the young knight swallowed the slight with a quiet glance. But one or two of the group looked at Mordred again and then once more, as if they were not quite sure of who he was.

"You must know that I serve Arthur," said Merlin quietly. The attention of the group was immediately riveted on the servant.

"You serve him," questioned the oldest man, Drew. His tone indicated amazement. "But that is part of your plan, is it not? You are close to him, knowing everything that happens in the kingdom, right at the center of our persecution. And now that you know of us, my Lord, the day of our vindication nears. You are not alone, Lord Emrys!"

"You do not understand," responded Merlin firmly. "He is my king. If you know my name then you know the prophecies that surround us. Of the Once and Future King, of the world of peace we will make..."

"How can you still believe that?" Thomas spoke, his voice catching with passion. "He has been king for years, and though he does not persecute the Druids any longer, those with magic are still hunted. This prejudice against magic has settled like a poison in the heart of the people, until there is no hope of ever ending this plague."

"You saw what they did to the musician," said John. "Their every fear turns immediately to hatred, until we are all painted in the same deadly brush. What hope is there for justice from such people?"

"So the musician was merely a casualty of your effort to find me? The man had no magic!" Merlin's anger filled him with a rising heat. "He had done nothing to you or your group and yet every single one of you stood by and let the crowd kill him for something of which you knew he was innocent!"

"Magic is not a crime," cried Matthias, the youngest in the group.

"I didn't say that," protested the warlock.

James spoke again. "You are wrong, Emrys. We did not kill the musician! It was the hatred in the hearts of the crowd that killed that man. Can you not see that these people are evil? Their hearts warped by their fear and hatred. We could not reveal ourselves because we knew you would come. Before any other consideration, we stand ready to serve you, my Lord."

Anger flooded Merlin, but he held it in check, knowing there had to be a way to move these men towards his own way of thinking. There was no alternative. He had to succeed. "If you serve me, then you must be loyal to Arthur, as king of Camelot, " he said at last.

"Should I give my loyalty to someone who would kill me if he knew who I was? You are mad to think Arthur would ever accept the fealty of a sorcerer." cried John, with a glance at James, whose dark eye were blazing. Merlin could feel Mordred's distress rising along with the angry bitter tone the discussion had taken. He was surprised at his unusual sensitivity to Mordred since he had joined him on the mission. He hardly trusted the boy and yet, he felt every blow his heart had taken in this conversation. Merlin knew it must somehow be important. It jangled along his nerves, buffeting him like the storm outside.

"Does King Arthur know of your magic?" The question settled in the warlock's heart with a sickening honesty. Looking back at Mordred, he saw an unease in his quicksilver glance that warned him further.

"No. He does not."

"You do not trust the king!" James cried out wildly as he came to his feet. "Even you, who plead his cause, do not trust him. You are blind, Emrys! There will be no world of peace!" Trembling with emotion, he stalked away from the group, passing through his brother's warding with a snap of golden motes and disappearing into the darkness of the wind and the rain outside. The silence was a relief that prisoned them. At last John spoke.

"You must try to understand, Emrys. My brother and I have suffered long at the hands of the Pendragon. We were still very young when word came to our encampment of a Druid child, witness to his parents murders, so traumatized he could only communicate with his mind speech. He was being held captive while his parents murderers decided on the best way to execute him. Seems some in the village had a hard time burning or hanging a child. Most held with drowning him. There was very little time. A rescue was mounted at once. The boy was gifted; his magic so strong at his tender age that his mental voice could be heard leagues away. My father volunteered to participate in the rescue and bring him to our encampment. They freed the boy, but both my father and the child were caught, as they traded for food in Camelot. Word came to us that my father died defending the boy, but it was never known what happened to the child. James never recovered from the blow of my father's death." There was a beat of silence.

"He died nobly," said Mordred. Although his voice was soft, John looked up, as if in some silent recognition at the sound of the young knight's voice. Merlin held his breath, knowing what the Druid knight would say next. He understood his own feelings now, his dread and his certainty.

"Call your brother," said Mordred softly, his eyes quickening with a surge of emotion. "I will tell you the rest of the story."


	7. Chapter 7

It was strange to hear a story told from one point of view, when Merlin knew the story so intimately from his own much examined memories. Merlin's heart beat fiercely as he listened. He could almost see the boy the tall knight had once been, his clear, pale eyes boring into his own with hopeless, exhausted desperation. He began to understand how the boy must have felt. How Merlin's reticence must have seemed like a betrayal; how Morgana's protectiveness had seemed like a miracle; how Arthur's noble defense and rescue of him had seemed as improbable as a legend. Many of Merlin's certainties flashed into ashes in those few minutes as he listened. He grew ever more ashamed of his distrust all those years ago. Still, the dragon's prophecy would not leave his heart.

Conflicted, still unsure of how to respond, he gave way to the compassion that flooded him, letting it carry him into the moment. The knight stopped quietly for a beat, as if to take a breath, and glanced up.

"Merlin?"

"I was there as well," said the warlock at last. "With Cerdan caught so publicly there was no way to stop Uther from executing him. I wish I could have done more, but I couldn't..."

"You could not reveal yourself," said John, tears filling his eyes. He looked up at Merlin with a terrible, humble trust that shook the servant through. "You were taking an enormous risk in saving Mordred. My father would have understood... His choice was the same." Although John's voice was steady, it caught at the heart.

Merlin resumed the tale. "Mordred was so young and so ill, unable to speak or to trust us...he grew even weaker after your father's death. I was not even sure that the court physician Gaius could save him, but he rallied. We knew nothing of where he came from, so we thought it best to take him back to the Druids." Then Mordred spoke again.

"In the end, it was Arthur himself who led me from Camelot and took me to Iseldir."

There was a stunned silence among the group.

"Arthur," breathed James. "Arthur brought you to the Druids."

The silence deepened again, but no one said anything.

"I follow Arthur because he gives me hope." said Mordred slowly, but his words came more quickly as he continued. "I have pledged my sword to his service only lately, but he won my loyalty long ago. As did the Lady Morgana. When I returned to Albion,I had wanted first to see Morgana, my beautiful lady, my protector. I had hoped she still believed in a world where we could be free... I knew she dreamed of it, long ago. Even as a child, I could hear it in her eyes, her longing, her desperate hope. But she is no longer who she was." His sorrow was palpable. The men considered his words in silence. "She is consumed with revenge and anger, and she no longer cares about justice or peace. There was little choice in my heart. Follow Arthur and have hope for peace, or follow Morgana and pledge myself to unending revenge."

"You are trying to tell me the son of the monster who killed my father has your loyalty?"

"He is my king", Mordred spoke steadily, but Merlin felt the warmth of his feeling, beneath the calm conviction of his words.

"But he is not mine!" cried James, He paced as he spoke to the huddled group. His emotion was very real as he tried to process Mordred's story. "I cannot thank you enough that you have told us of my father's courage and of how he died. How strange that it brings me comfort, to hear such terrible words, even after so many years!" He looked around at his fellows. Thomas was quiet. Drew's tired eyes were shining with unshed tears. "It confirms my faith." Some of the men nodded as he continued. "I knew it must have been that way. I told you, remember, John. Our father must have died like a hero, unafraid and standing for justice. I knew it!" Tears roughened his voice.

He looked at his brother, and Merlin could almost feel the grieving pride that united the two brothers.

"But it does not change the fact, that Arthur has done nothing to change our lot. Our plight continues. We are hunted for who we are, for something that we cannot ever change. Our women and children die of sickness and starvation and still Iseldir maintains that we should all follow the ancient way of peace." His voice grew louder, more strained. "But I cannot! I will not! Maybe Iseldir is willing to live like that, a constant target of hatred, too afraid to strike back at those who would kill us! Maybe you are willing to wait, Mordred! Perhaps you are willing to stand at the side of the Pendragon and grovel for the scraps of his mercy and hope for better days, but I cannot!"

"James, " said John quietly. Merlin felt the tone of alarm in his brother's voice despite it's soft tone.

"What I cannot believe is that you stand at his side, Emrys, and still you do nothing! You, Emrys..." James stopped, overcome with emotion, his face working until at last he turned to look at Merlin once more.

The warlock felt a stirring in the world around him, a gathering, like a hand closing around a sheaf of arrows. Something was there that had not been there before, a moment ago.

"You, who could change everything!"

James stalked out yet again. But this time, his brother followed him, and then one by one, the group stood and left. First Matthias and another younger man,Thomas, and then the rest. They turned without a word. At last Drew stood and with a final heartbroken look, left. The silence echoed long in Merlin's heart; only Mordred stood beside him. The warding began to fade, and the rain swept down on them, soaking them both to the skin in a moment. The wind sang eerily, and Merlin felt the weight of this meeting sink down into his heart, like the sodden weight of his clothes.

He looked again at his companion, and tried to be positive. He thanked his own magic that had warned him to bring Mordred with him to this fateful meeting. Perhaps the outcome was not as obvious and dark as it now appeared. Mordred returned his gaze, an almost sad smile appearing as he looked at Merlin. His expression was so familiar that Merlin hardly knew what to say. There had been truth in some of what James had said, in his accusations and his viewpoint.

Mordred's story had only focused his memories. With his heart pounding, as if memory held a knife to his throat, he found no comfort as he reviewed his vacillation between compassion and fate all those years ago. It dragged at his heart like a chain, heavy and remorseless. And still, he could find no way forward between the horrors of the past, and the bleak violence of the present, if his followers could not be persuaded to stop. He had not even had a chance to speak or plead his own case before they had left. There was no way back and no way forward. Struck dumb by horror, Merlin stood for too long a moment, battered by his own thoughts and his memories.

"Arthur and the knights will have lost our trail in the rain," said Mordred at last. The warlock nodded,. But Merlin said nothing more and he cursed himself, even as he let the silence lengthen between them. Shame held him silent as they began to trudge through the sluicing rain and the biting wind.

MmMmMmMmMmMmMm

Arthur had been frantic with worry. Once the rain had begun to come down in surging sheets and the thunder crackled in the sky, even he had to admit that there was no trail left to follow. A dispirited silence had grown as the rain grew heavier until Arthur brought his horse to a halt, his hand raised to signal a stop by all of the group. His face had been grim as he had turned to look at them. The king had opened his mouth as if to speak, but then he had stopped and simply shook his head. Nothing need be said. The lightning flashed once and then once again, and the thunder rolled like breaking surf. It was a bitter ride back to the village.

To those who did not know the King, he had seemed grave and tired, after he returned to the village. He had seemed impatient with the delay of the storm. But the knights knew the meaning of his angry sigh, as Arthur dismounted and a nameless boy led his mount away. They understood his almost menacing glare as the knights had wolfed down their meager dinners, and his brooding presence by the fire was an agony for his friends to watch because they knew that Arthur could not share the burden of the fears that threatened him from all sides. The loss of Mordred would be a tragedy for the Round Table. The knights had come to value the quiet, young knight who had become part of their inner circle. The loss of Merlin...

That was a thought that Leon couldn't face no matter how hard he tried. No, that wasn't true; he didn't want to try. He told himself to be pragmatic, to plan for that eventuality . But it was unthinkable. Even a glimpse of Arthur told him how deeply the King was struggling with the very same thought. But there was no comfort he could offer but his loyalty.

They could see inaction eating at the King as he glanced around the room, as he proposed another review of the security points around the village and the knights assigned to the watches. His unspoken concern for his servant and his knight was so obvious as he reviewed the plans, that Garrett, and some of the other villagers took note of it. In tones of deepest sympathy, some had protested that the loss of a knight was to be lamented, and to that line of comment the king had turned a dangerous look, for the lack of mention of Merlin angered him past bearing. The King had dismissed them and the delegation from the village had left reluctantly. Arthur had resumed a tigerish pacing, as he circled the table, now littered with maps that had been brought for his perusal.

"Sire," Leon had said quietly. The King paused. In a rare moment of personal daring, he reached out and touched Arthur on the shoulder. He felt the King's immediate stiffening, a rising ire, and then a softening. He looked up at Leon, his eyes stormy and filled with doubt. He closed his eyes, and the curly-haired knight did not move, merely standing present, as Arthur struggled with his thoughts for a few moments more.

"I must rest," he said softly after a silence. "Thank you, old friend." The words held a certain bitterness and a heartfelt gratitude that pierced the knight like an arrow, although he feared he understood Arthur's depth of emotion all too well, in that moment.

"It's going to turn out all right," he said to himself silently, with more desperation than he would ever admit. "It's got to."

MmMmMmMmMmMmMm

John had raised the warding as soon as they found a protected spot and the small group of renegade Druids sat around a small bright fire, still struck dumb by the events that had just shaken them to their core.

"What will we do if Emrys still refuses to act," asked Matthias at last. "He follows the king, as does the Druid knight."

"He must be convinced."

"Yes, let us talk to him again," suggested someone else.

"Emrys has not yet spoken of his plans," said John.

"He does not need to speak," snapped James. "His actions speak of his true loyalties, and it is clear he is crippled by fear. He will not help us! What is to become of us in a world where this hidden way of existence is all we have of hope. Look at what we have become! Poor half-baked shadows of what magic once was. Is this the lasting legacy of Uther? That we let our women and children suffer and see our way of life waste away into the dust." The young man began to pace, and the men leaned in to hear him as he spoke again, his tone was so soft.

"Emrys may follow Arthur. But which of you can deny the king lacks the courage to change the law? Or does he simply lack compassion? To him, we are less than human! Emrys lacks the will to challenge his destiny."

"Emrys must be made to see the truth," cried Thomas.

"I have thought of way to force his hand..." said James at last. From his soft tone, his voice now rose like a banner lifted in the wind. "I have faith in Emrys." Hope began to flow through the group of men. "When he is forced to see the truth, he will act. I will never believe that he will turn his face from us! He was born to restore the balance of magic!"

"Emrys has wisdom beyond ours," began Drew, "perhaps his way is more complicated than we can see."

"Emrys has not yet spoken," repeated John, but his voice held little challenge.

"Delay gains us nothing but more suffering," said James. The group nodded, each man glancing from one to the other, approving their solidarity. Even Drew and John could not refute this point. Slowly, James drew a slender glimmering chain from his pack, letting it pool in the palm of his hand with a baleful silver glitter.

"We will force his hand," breathed James. "He will see there is no way forward but our own. I have faith in Emrys." For a moment he entwined the chain between his fingers, sliding it in fluid loops over and under his fingers as he centered himself to begin his spell.

"Weorc untoworpenlic," intoned James, and the binding spell arose like a breath at the sound of his voice.

"Emrys" said John, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped his hand beneath his brother's in a gesture of support.

"Emrys," cried Thomas and Matthias at once, and a familiar warmth ran around the group at the sound of their fiery tones. They added their hands.

"Emrys!"

"Emrys!"

"Emrys," said Drew at last. The chain glowed a brighter argent, the shimmer rising like a cloud and then falling like a shower of pale dust over their cupped hands.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A/N Thank you, thank you, everyone who reviewed my last chapter! I am sorry I did not respond to each of you individually, but real life pulls at my priorities and I give way to my distractions. I hope most sincerely, that you will forgive me, and that you will enjoy reading this chapter, as much as I loved writing it.

"Mordred!"

The name tore from Merlin's lips with an agony of pleading and there was blood. Blood everywhere. Arthur had fallen to his knees and he was convulsed by a cry of pain that did not escape his lips. Mordred's eyes were fixed on his. Fear gripped the warlock with an iron fist and shook him, and he took a gasping breath, trying to free himself, willing the vision to stop. He had to make it stop, because Arthur had gone limp and there was so much blood. Merlin couldn't move. He couldn't move and he cried out again in complete panic and fear, hearing someone call his name.

"Merlin". His voice. It was Mordred's voice, and it helped to push the vision away and at the same time stabbed him again, like a shadow of nameless terror. He winced away.. He tried to sit up but didn't quite make it.

The two companions had found a sheltered spot to rest, as the storm passed over. The vision had crept up on Merlin as he had taken his watch, catching him in a moment of unguarded thought as he settled down. Merlin moaned in pained frustration. The visions left him shaking and sick to his stomach, heaving and sweating, his head turgid with images. He raised his eyes to see Mordred only inches away. His presence filled him with fear and comforted him at the same time. Before the knight said anything, Merlin tried to dismiss his concern. "Don't worry," he rasped. "It's nothing."

"A vision?" Though Mordred's tone questioned, he stated the facts.

Merlin nodded as he closed his eyes. There was little use in denying the obvious, but he was unwilling to say more. When he opened his eyes again, Mordred's eyes were fixed on his. Mordred's eyes.

The vision clawed him open again. With ferocious power, it grew in blinding intensity., sweeping the present away. There was nothing in front of him but blood. Blood everywhere. Pain was flooding through him, and Arthur was struggling. Fighting. His king collapsed to his knees without a sound. Merlin struggled against bonds he could not see, magic seething around him, binding him ever tighter as he fought. He could barely breathe. Arthur was limp in Mordred's arms. He cried out in anguish, still reaching for his King, his world slipping away. A calming light crept past his pain,hardly noticeable at first, silver blue, cool as water. It filled the dark places in his brain where the vision had taken him. His shaking stilled as the color washed him clean, until the vision grew quiet, until the tumult of the future rippled away into the darkness of things yet to be.

"It's little use to deny that the vision concerned me," said Mordred softly, at last, when Merlin was able to sit up. He offered the servant his waterskin and he took it reluctantly.

"Then you must know that the vision changes nothing." He took a sip of water, as he calmed a bit more, breathing easier. He scrubbed tiredly at his eyes and passed the waterskin back to Mordred.

"Thanks."

He was silent for a moment. When he lifted his eyes again to Mordred, they were almost frightened.

"What did you do?"

"A prayer..." the young knight responded softly, " a kind of blessing. I had a teacher who helped me... a seer's gift is the most difficult."

Merlin closed his eyes again. He felt a sudden cold and a strange sense of companionship. As if an arm had been slung around his shoulders in a brotherly hug. A chill ran through him,and his head spun a bit. Mordred had not moved. Something was embracing him, but it was simultaneously draining his energy. Coming on the wake of his vision, he felt himself loose and untethered, light as a shadow. He shook his head in confusion and he heard a twirl of music. The melody was light and bracing, sweet as spring. He spun down into the darkness, half thankful for oblivion, half taken by the music's driving force.

Try a little bit harder, urged the music as it dipped and spun. Try harder. Merlin had asked for trust, but had seldom given it. Perhaps Mordred would play a part in Arthur's death, but not today. The wheel was turning. Try a bit harder. Just a little bit more. The music exploded like fire in his head, shaking him down into the darkness that followed. There was the scent of roses.

Merlin found himself heaving on the ground again in an instant, wondering if he had been unconscious for minutes or hours. The cold seized him like the touch of the Dorocha. The thought panicked him. He tried to sit up, but weakness caught at his limbs and he twitched and struggled, but didn't have the strength to actually move. He was surprised when someone tried to help him.

Mordred carefully lifted him, easing his head a bit and Merlin felt some water trickle over his face. It roused him. He tried to speak but even that short effort exhausted him. At this weakest point in his struggle, well and truly caught by the freezing lethargy, he dimly heard Mordred call his name. Again. Once again. Knowing he should answer, he fought to open his eyes, and he wondered if he was slipping out of his body again. Strangely, he could see himself held in Mordred's arms, as if he was floating. Everything seemed so far away, so cold. Mordred's eyes swam in his sight again. He feared his vision had reclaimed him and he fought to believe Mordred was real. Yes, he had to be real. Mordred had been nothing but loyal. He had to tell the boy of his of his shame, of his reasons for betrayal. If shame had held him silent before, now it drove him to speak.

"Forgive me," he cried, but it escaped his lips with a hoarse wheeze.

The surprise in the young knights face was genuine; he almost looked distressed. Merlin continued to struggle, and despite Mordred's attempts to calm him, Merlin only grew more agitated.

"Forgive me," he choked out. "When I first heard your voice Mordred, when you were just a child... long ago, I was warned. Warned you would be the instrument of Arthur's death. You were only a boy." Merlin's voice caught in his throat.

"I was wrong." Merlin wondered desperately if he was going to regret his words, but he found he could not stop himself. Like lancing a wound, his shame would not leave him be, even though the vision had drained his strength, the cold touch of something else bolstered his words. Merlin shivered again, it ached in his bones and the music echoed in his thoughts. "We are more than what our fate decrees, Mordred. I have to believe that. I feared you...and I'm sorry."

Shadows played over Mordred's face, comprehension washing over his features. For a moment he said nothing, and then he closed his eyes, easing Merlin to the ground with care and placing his hand on the struggling warlock, he repeating his blessing. He saw Merlin ease, take a breath and finally relax into an exhausted sleep.

Never had he seen a vision drain the seer in such a debilitating way. Arthur's death. No wonder Merlin was devastated to exhaustion. When he was a boy he had not understood the bond between the prince and the secret warlock. Now as a man, it was clear f to see. Their friendship was deeper than fate. And his fate was to bring about Arthur's death. The thought blackened his world, just as it must have darkened Merlin's. It explained many things he realized, many things.

He looked down where Merlin now lay, finally sleeping, though he periodically shivered. He had never known that Merlin possessed this precognitive gift as well. But why should he be surprised, he was Emrys after all. Mordred smiled as he realized that clever Merlin had made him forget the inherent power of who he was, simply by being himself. Even Mordred sometimes forgot the clumsy servant was far more than he appeared. He had never been able to understand Merlin, but now he was dumbfounded by his new knowledge. His fate.

He found he could not quite confront the full horror of that thought. He disciplined himself to let go of his speculations and focus on the present threat. Mordred knew that visions drained energy severely and that food was essential for Merlin, but there was none to be had. He coaxed Merlin to swallow a bit more water, but there was little else Mordred could do. He had never seen a second collapse, following a vision, but he had no idea what had happened. A bit of rest was all Merlin had to go on. He hoped it would be enough.

Against his better judgement, he began to wonder what warning in the vision had prompted Merlin's surprising plea and explanation. He had known of Mordred's fate for many years. Why break his silence now? While many questions took form in his head, he kept watch as Merlin rested.

Mordred was well aware of the multiple dangers. The renegade Druids were still close at hand and though they were not far from where they had started out, the knight was uncertain of how far it actually was to get to the village. Even Arthur and Gawaine could never have tracked the band of sorcerers in the rain, and he guessed they must have long ago returned to the village. His clothes were cold and wet under the weight of his mail. The rain had finally stopped.

Best to move now, he thought to himself. He dried his clothes with a quick spell and then did the same for Merlin, who awoke with a start. He sat up and rubbed his head as he looked around, and then he stilled for a moment. He did not speak aloud.

" Mordred..." Before he could continue, the sound of Merlin's name hissed through the darkness, striking both men with dread.

"Emrys."

Mordred gestured for silence, looking around in the gloom. Merlin clambered to his feet, tiredness still slowing his movements and he stumbled. The younger man steadied him, with a questioning look. He saw the answer in Merlin's eyes that he was ready to keep going.

"Emrys. Listen to us, Emrys. We are ready to lift the spell on the land. Meet us in the clearing."

To the knight's complete surprise, Merlin only rolled his eyes, in response to this pronouncement. Mordred was a little startled at the warlock's levity, in this serious situation; the dark haired boy seemed almost mirthful.

""Pompous assholes!" His attitude was infectious. "Like we're too dumb to know it's a trap." His eyes twinkled and Mordred smiled reluctantly.

He had to admit Merlin was right, there was a value in being underestimated. If you were about to walk into a trap, it might as well be with both eyes open. Mordred took a perverse encouragement in knowing that however much the renegade Druids seemed to revere Emrys, they had no idea who they were dealing with, nor did they understand his power or his heart. He had no idea how this was going to go, nor did there seem to be a plan. But Mordred felt more hope than he had in a long while and he shook his head in exasperation with himself. Maybe this was all just a mad dream and the world was going to hell in a basket. With a rueful smile, he found this thought to be a blessing.

The clearing where the musician had died was swept clean by the rain. John emerged first from the darkness of the woods. James and Drew behind him. Matthias, and Thomas kept guard as the others approached Merlin and Mordred.

John went down on one knee in front of Merlin, his exhausted face shadowy with emotion. he reached out and kissed his hand., before the warlock could react.

"Forgive me, Emrys," he said clearly.

"Please" said Merlin. "There is no need for that," As the warlock took a step forward, John brought out a wineskin, and upturned it, breathing a word of magic under his breath, his eyes glowed, only for a moment. He squeezed the contents in a steady stream on to the ground. A scent like flowers flooded the space between them. There was a sigh, almost audible, but it shook Merlin's magical senses like the sound of thunder. It drove Merlin and Mordred to their knees. In the shadows, the ground warmed and freed of it's poison, the green fuse of shoots grew, thirsting upwards. A fresh breath eased from the land itself. Merlin shook with an a primal relief.

"Forgive me, Emrys," said John once more.

Joy in his face, Merlin bent slightly to speak further to John, when there was a silky sound, like steel and venom, and a slender chain whipped around them from behind, trapping both Morded and Merlin. They both fought against the bond, but their struggle only seemed to strengthen the binding.

"Stop," cried Merlin, remembering the feel of the chain that had had left him prey to the serket long ago. "Don't struggle..." Mordred ceased his movement immediately but the chain was still looping, and when they turned, it was James who held the other end of the chain. He suddenly released it, letting snapped against them like a living thing, leaving Mordred in his armor untouched, but flicking onto Merlin's shoulder and neck. Blood poured out as if from the lash of a whip, slicking his skin,

"The time is now," said James quietly. "You have great power Emrys, but you cannot see that the time to move is now. You were born to bring magic back to the land of Camelot. Let us help you."

"I will never help you," said Merlin quietly, almost conversationally. Blood covered his neck and stained the front of his shirt. "And I assure you, I do not need your help."

But before he could draw another breath, manacles were shoved onto Mordred's wrists and as the chain loosened and tightened, several men held Merlin down as Mordred was separated from him. Over and over the the warlock's magic sizzled against the chain that bound him, but James only used it as an excuse to edge closer.

As if he was approaching a tiger, James came ever closer, gathering the chain to himself bit by bit, as it drew tighter and tighter around Merlin, holding his arms and hands to his sides in an inexorable tightening of woven steel and magic. The warlock could barely breathe, the chain was so tight. Two men held Mordred on either side, as he continued to jerk and fight against his restraint.

James looped the chain around himself, binding himself to Merlin with it, wrapping him in his arms as well, even thought Merlin struggled and his eyes flashed gold twice more. The warlock fell to his knees with a sudden gasp, and James fell with him. Merlin was dragged to his feet again.

Mordred could not forget the terrible exhaustion that had gripped the warlock in the aftermath of his vision and he began to shove harder against his captor as he watched James wrapping his arm around Merlin's chest firmly and looping the chain around both of their right arms and hands. Thomas placed a knife in James outstretched hand.

"Now," cried James. And to Merlin and Mordred's horror, the world was shifting, blackening into the wisping swirls of power that transported them to another place. It was like a nightmare.

Arthur looked up as the first wind of their arrival stirred the chamber, as he stood staring into the fireplace. Ever the warrior, he had sprung into action, even though he was not prepared to see his servant chained to another man, suddenly looming out a magical wind in the dimly lit cottage. He broke stride for a second, stunned.

Behind him, Merlin heard a familiar roar, as Gawaine struck out to defend the king. Mordred was thrown into the fireplace as James and John manifested, scattering embers and dousing the light as they struggled. James threw himself forward, Merlin still bound to him and fighting every movement. The knife flashed in his hand and and was striking down. Down toward the king.

"Move!"

Merlin's shout broke Arthur's momentary hesitation. They tumbled in a tangled heap, Merlin and James on top of Arthur, with James stabbing at Arthur,even while Merlin was fighting against him. A few seconds seemed like an eternity as they fought and then Arthur turned and twisted, breaking James hold and Merlin kicked away, tumbling James. But the knife had already left his hand and the blade tore into Arthur's shoulder, and there was suddenly blood. Other people were flooding into the room.

Arthur was falling to his knees, the blade still stuck in his shoulder. Although his face was contorted in pain, he made no sound. even as his body jerked in convulsive reaction to the blow of the blade. Merlin struggled towards his friend and the chain tightened ever more around him and he cried out incoherently. Mordred scrambled, throwing himself forward and covering Arthur with his own body in a rolling movement. He turned, tumbling the king away from the center of the struggle between James and Merlin.

The young knight's eyes caught Merlin's. They bore into him with a blue hot intensity. There was trust there and a pleading agony. Arthur's safety was always first in Merlin's thoughts, and in that split second, Mordred understood exactly what Merlin wanted. He knew the consequences would be huge, but he did not hesitate. He held the king tighter to himself, his manacles still bound to his wrists, trying to ignore the fact, that Arthur had gone limp in the last second. Merlin's anguished plea echoed in his heart.

"Mordred!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Mordred shouted. He put all of his strength into his cry, all of his certainty and all of his loyalty.

"Bedryne ús. Astýre ús þanonweard!"

Focusing on Camelot, the spell was a conflagration of speed and lurching disorientation, spinning and falling. Mordred hit the ground, Arthur still in his embrace, a wrenching gasp of pain breaking from the injured king as they hit the ground. Mordred continued to hold him as gently as he could. "Gaius " he shouted, his eyes flashing gold, to make sure Gaius heard his desperate call for help. His voice echoed hugely through the courtyard. He knew he was already revealed by his strange arrival, and it hardly mattered if more magic condemned him further. "Gaius" he shouted again. The knife had been partially dislodged by all the movement, and blood was pooling at an alarming rate.

"To the king," he shouted. The familiar white walls of the castle steadied him. They were in the square, and guards were rushing down the stairs.

"Help us! To the king," he shouted again.

"Quickly! The king is badly injured..." The guards stopped in shock, unsure what to do. "A litter, quickly," he commanded. "we dare not risk hurting him further!" Mordred could see the fear in their eyes. Fear of him. He held Arthur so protectively, that the guards dare not approach him until a litter materialized for the king and Mordred carefully lifted him, allowing the guards to help him, so that he was jostled as little as possible. "Go now," he said with authority.

Gaius met them as the head of the stairs. At this point, the guards began to pull Mordred away,and he did not resist. Mordred and the guards looked at each other. It was clear he had not arrived by normal means and the guards were unsure of what to do next. Though they did not say the word 'magic', it echoed in their silence. In Uther's day, their action would have been clear cut. But a sorcerer had just saved the life of the King, and the next move was suddenly uncertain.

Mordred could not forget the look in Merlin's eyes as he had spirited Arthur away. Humbled by the both the knowledge of his fate, and the trust Merlin had placed in him in this terrible extremity, he was still too stunned to feel anything.

He roused himself, looking up at the guards who looked at him somewhat fearfully. He smiled, almost amused at how easy it would be to escape, but he knew that this situation was far too dangerous to give way to old ways of doing things. He began to understand Merlin a bit more. But he was a knight, not a servant, and he had long ago learned to use the gifts that came to his hand.

When the captain of the guard arrived, Mordred rose to look him in the eye, but the man avoided looking at him. The King's favor towards the young knight was known amongst the guard, and he was well liked among the soldiers for his unassuming mien and dedication to constantly improving his fighting skills.

Mordred moved his hands so that the captain and the guards could see the manacles. "Do not remove them," he said with all the quiet aplomb of a prince. "They are my guarantee to you, that I mean no harm. Ask the guards what they saw." The captain still could not meet his eyes.

"I just saved the life of the King." he said evenly, without a trace of fear. " I am a knight of Camelot. There is more that Gaius and the Queen need to know and I will speak only to them. Do you understand? Only to them. I will wait until the safety of the King is certain. In the meantime, take me to a jail cell or take me to Gaius' chambers, it matters not to me."

It was an anxious wait outside Gaius' chambers until Guinevere arrived.

mmmmM*Mmmmm

Merlin fell violently to his knees as Arthur and Mordred disappeared in the roiling wisps of the spell that spirited them away. James let out a whoop, light-hearted and wildly desperate at the same time. John reached down and unwound the chain that had bound both Merlin and James together. Using only a heartbeat of time to slip it half off, John gave it one more jerk and the chain tightened around Merlin yet again, slicing into his skin, so the blood flowed again. James took one more look into Merlin still shocked and horrified eyes.

"Let them see your magic," he whispered fiercely. "You can no longer deny who you are. Your king is dead and it is time to strike for justice. Stand for us, Emrys. Bring magic back to the land."

He backed away, his brother starting the spell that would take them away, even as Gawaine launched himself at the pair.

"We believe in you, Emrys!"

At the sound of his name, James and John raised their arms and , standing shoulder to shoulder, their dark cloaks flaring behind them, the wind of the spell rose around them. They disappeared and the knights and the villagrs who were streamng into the room descended on Gawaine and Merlin.

Merlin struggled to stand up in the grip of the silver chain. When Gawaine touched it, it flared sparks with an evil hiss and the chain cut further into Merlin's skin. Blood was flowing freely along his arms and torso.

Merlin tried to calm, looking up at Gawaine with a desperation that was still part fear for Arthur's injury. "Ride for Camelot," he whispered as Gawaine helped him to his feet, as the cacophony of confusion centered on them. He knew this might be his last chance to tell any of the knights what was happening.

"Mordred..." began Gawaine.

"Ride for Camelot," said Merlin again, fiercley and quickly, so Gawaine would know it was a command and not the suggestion of a servant. "Make sure Arthur..."

Hands reached out to grab him, shoving him and unbalancing him. Merlin fell to his knees again, blood still running down his neck as he closed his eyes. He braced himself for what would come next.

Gawaine was suddenly standing in front of him, pushing the shoving hands away and the commotion that had surrounded Merlin subsided. Tension filled the room. The knight was standing in front of him, sword drawn; his protection clear to any who entered the room.

"He killed the King," cried one voice after another.

"He killed the King! I saw it!"

"Stop," cried Gawaine , his eyes full of fury and calculation. "This is Merlin, the King's servant. He has served the King for many years and through many trials. There is no questioning his loyalty."

"The young knight had magic. He acted on the command of this, this servant, and disappeared with the King! He was gravely wounded, Sir Knight, the King, I mean..." protested the farmer who owned the house where the king had been quartered.

"He betrayed the King," the man concluded in a tone of shock as he looked around the room.

"Merlin was chained to the assassin! He was unable to stop the sorcerer! " Gawaine shouted as he glared at the crowd that was gathering.

"The other knights entered the room, taking in the situation. Percival and Elyan moved quickly to stand beside Gawaine, and Leon quietly assumed a place by the door, his sword at the ready.

Merlin swayed on his feet, and Gawaine tried to support him, but his fingers brushed the chain, and Merlin fell to his knees. He gasped again as the chains tightened once more, until he lay spent, taking small shuddering breaths on the ground. His eyes fell closed, as if in despair.

He opened his eyes again he found Gawaine had lowered his sword, as the other knights joined them. Now he knelt, looked down into the eyes of his friend. Merlin's eyes were blazing.

"Gawaine, you must go, now!" The knight bent closer, trying to calm his friend, but Merlin knew the situation would quickly get out of hand, and he would have only this one chance for rescue. Only Gawaine had heard what the sorcerers had said to him so it was best to get the knight away from this crowd. They would twist everything into evil parodies of the truth. There was no time to explain, only to trust. There was no time for kindness or lies.

"You must go now," Merlin said desperately, "Arthur is badly injured and Mordred has revealed his magic to save him, please... Mordred has probably taken Arthur to Camelot. They are both in terrible danger. Please Gawaine... Ride for Camelot!" he choked out the phrase once more.

For a moment it was clear that the long haired knight was not going to leave the King's servant behind. There were a thousand questions in his eyes. He had heard the sorcerers talk of magic to Merlin, and address him by another name. A name he had heard before. The sorcerers had spoken of justice and magic. This crowd knew only one kind of justice and now they were focused on Merlin. He questioned no more. It was Merlin who was in danger. He rose, clapping Percival on the shoulder as he stood.

"Delay them," he whispered to both of them as he headed towards, the door. "Don't let them touch Merlin!"

As he shoved by the crowd at the door and into the empty space behind them, Leon followed him out and grabbing the younger knight by the shoulder more roughly than most would have expected.

"Listen to me, Leon," said Gawaine darkly. "If I leave now, and if Arthur lives, I will bring him back. Hold off the crowd as long as you can. We'll be on our way. I..."

"What is the matter with you, Gawaine? The proof is clear. Mordred has magic and has taken the King! I... I can hardly believe...He ...he has betrayed us, Gawaine!" Leon's voice stuttered with emotion.

"You are being a fool, Leon! You are blinded by your years in Uther's court!" Gawaine paused and then spoke again.

"Listen to me! Merlin trusted Mordred with Arthur! I heard him plead with him to take Arthur to safety! Merlin was bound by a chain to the assassin. I saw it myself, Leon. Mordred is loyal, whether he has magic or not. You know the boy! He has trained with you, fought by your side. Think, Leon! To win Merlin's trust is not a small thing where Arthur is concerned. This crowd will want to burn Merlin at the stake and only the King can stop them." He paused to take a breath, glancing desperately a where the horses were stabled. "You know Mordred is loyal!"

"And if he is not?"

"Then Merlin is doomed," said Gawaine, "and so are we." His emotion thickened his voice. " I must make sure Arthur is safe... Merlin..." Gawaine's voice broke at last. The curly haired knight's eyes wavered. "Please! I must leave now if there is chance to save Merlin, Leon. Let me go now! There is more afoot here than I understand, and most of it to do with magic, but I do not doubt Mordred. And I will never doubt Merlin! I ride for Camelot to find Arthur. I only pray he lives!"

A moment passed, until Leon dropped his eyes once more.

"Godspeed!" he said, gruffly. He was already drawing his sword from it's sheath, as he headed back toward the door, where the noise of the crowd was growing.

Gawaine ran.

mmmmM*Mmmmm

Guinevere swept into the antechamber, her dark eyes quickly taking in Mordred in his manacles and the anxious guards. It was clear that she had heard of the manner of his appearance, but her thoughts were all on Arthur.

"Come with me," she said calmly and he followed her into Gauis' chamber and the door shut behind them, as the guards took up their posts. Her calm demeanor was swept away the instant she saw Arthur. He lay still and silent, pale as wax, the floor and bedside surrounded by the scarlet stained cloths Gaius had used to stanch the bleeding as he worked on Arthur. Gaius was just making his final adjustments to the bandages that encircled the King's shoulder and torso.

Guinevere's hand flew to her mouth to stifle her cry, and in only one terrifying moment more, the competent, calm woman who both served and ruled Camelot, was back in control.

She stood on the other side of the surgery pallet. She was careful not to block the light. Softly, her hand twined in Arthur's hair in a tender, soundless gesture of greeting, even as she looked up calmly at Gaius. There was no need to voice the question.

"He is out of danger, Gwen," said Gaius with a wan smile. "Only Mordred's quick action saved him, by bringing him to me." He glanced at he silent young knight where he still stood. The old physician took in the sight of his manacles with only the slightest flare of his eyebrow. His voice was calm as he turned back to the Queen.

"He will be weak for a while and require much rest. And he must not be allowed to rip out the stitches I just put in." The old physician said this rather more loudly than the rest of his speech, and with a certain tone that made Gwen understand that Arthur was likely aware of what was going on.

Gwen took it as a good sign and bent to kiss Arthur on the cheek. His lashes fluttered at her touch. His lips curved as he shifted his head to kiss her once again, his lips finding hers as naturally as taking a breath. For a moment Arthur felt the safety of her love envelope him, like a shield it was his surety. But it was only for a moment. Mixed with the sweetness of her kiss, the pain in his shoulder throbbed and suddenly he was remembering.

Mute, his weakness from the blood loss held his body still, as his brain struggled to remember. Guinevere was brushing back his hair, her love soothing him as he tried to remember, hovering just on the edge of awareness. Memories, grainy and strange as dreams and then more real, became sharper and more defined. They had lost Merlin and Mordred's trail in the rain and had returned to the village. A wind had swept into his chamber, and then had been shadows of men, and Merlin, chained to another man, so closely chained with him, so that he could only move as the other man commanded. Merlin had been covered in blood. They had struggled and Merlin had kept trying to stop the madman stabbing at him, but it was Mordred who had saved him. And Merlin had cried out. He couldn't remember what his friend said, he only remembered the despairing plea in his voice. He didn't want to ever hear that sound again. And then, he found himself here. In Camelot. With Guinevere. But that was impossible. How did he get here? It was more than he could bear. Arthur sank into the darkness, exhausted, but he knew time was slipping away and the crowd of villagers would go mad. Merlin...


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A/N I am very sorry that this chapter is late and I hope you will accept my most sincere apologies. Despite it's late arrival, I hope it will still please. I had to wrestle with it a bit to get it the way I wanted. Please read and review! (And thank you Guest for your review!)

Merlin tried not to move, as he knelt, still chained, behind Percival and Elyan. The crowd was growing louder. Half of them shouting that he had killed the king and the other half claiming he was a sorcerer. Knowing in his gut that this would end badly, Merlin still fought to find a way out. He tried to think it through. Gawaine was on his way to Arthur.

Arthur. The image of his warning vision was complete to every detail. Every damn detail. He couldn't voice the horror he felt. The knife had still been in Arthur's shoulder. The King had been limp in Mordred's arms. There had been so much blood. Surely he would know if Arthur had died! The idea ate at him. His heart convulsed in a fear that burned. Surely, he would know! If Arthur was dead...his heart stuttered in a fear so deep, he could not fathom the abyss that would consume him. Wouldn't Destiny reach out and tear him in two or something? Maybe he was already a little torn, he thought to himself; torn and ripped. If Arthur was dead... A wave of hysteria fought to overwhelm him; he knew if the fears began to rule his mind, they would never stop. He took a breath. If Arthur lived ...

If Arthur lived, he owed it to Mordred. In the essential necessity of the moment he saw his admission of shame had somehow transformed into trust. Mordred had agreed to reveal his magic in order to save Arthur with only a moment of thought. Merlin understood. Only he, as Emrys, could understood the meaning and the consequences of Mordred's courage, because they had been his own choices as well. His heart swelled with warring emotions.

And now the vision was changed. He saw that it was not a warning, but a way out. The trust he had given Mordred changed everything. The image in the vision had not changed, every detail was still fulfilled, even to the heart thundering fear in his chest that Arthur was dead. But Arthur might live today, and perhaps Mordred had saved him yet again. The young Druid knight may be part of Arthur's doom, but not today. Not today. All was not lost.

Merlin felt his magic surging inside of him, confined by the silver chains. It seethed and fought against it's binding. Merlin remembered the feel of the spell from the time Morgause and Morgana had left him die as the serkets advanced on him; it echoed like a nightmare from his vision.

Leon's voice rang out over the crowd.

"In the name of the king," he cried. An uneasy quiet settled over the crowd, an undercurrent of whispers going silent, only to be replaced by belligerent glares and angry gestures among the gathered men.

"Merlin was sent to contact the sorcerers. He was trapped and we were unable to follow their trail in the rain."

"And what of the King! " Garrett the head man of the village spoke at last, looking around at his friends and neighbors. "Old Drummond here, who owns this house saw this sorcerer appear right out of the air! Saw him stab the King! Tell him Drummond!"

The old man came forward, clearly frightened and angry, horrified at what had happened in his home. "I saw it, Sir Knight," he said firmly to Leon and the other knights who still stood firmly in front of Merlin. " This servant here and more sorcerers appeared; it seemed like a lot of them, and they set upon the King. He stabbed King Arthur and then the other man left him here. The servant yelled for help. And the young knight, who was chained up, disappeared with the King! He's a traitor!"

More cries rose up with the same theme.

"Stop!" cried Leon again. "Merlin has served Arthur for many years..."

"He's still a traitor!"

"I hear tell Camelot is like that! The Lady Morgana betrayed the King! "

"What about Agravaine," cried another. "He betrayed the King as well. We've heard the tales!" The crowd agreed, their energy starting to come together, as they all looked at Leon. The silent figure of the servant had not moved.

"There's traitors everywhere in Camelot!"

"This servant wanted to bury the sorcerer, do you remember," said an older man, who had previously been silent throughout the tumult. "Perhaps he showed his true colors earlier and he is a traitor to the King. For all we know, the King is dead! "

The words sank into the crowd with a horrible finality. Most looked at each other in disbelief, but the situation was becoming clearer.

"Where is the other knight?"

"Sir Gawaine rode for Camelot." At that Leon, stopped. He could not speak further without having to answer more questions. More questions that would reveal their youngest comrade had magic. This crowd was on the edge of exploding into a lynching, and if Merlin came to harm, the King...

Leon turned away from the thought, just as surely as he had turned away from it the night before, when Merlin had been missing.

"Let's take care of this traitor now," yelled the old man.

"You have no proof against Merlin!" Leon shouted, but his voice was firm and he calmly appealed to reason. "We will keep watch over the servant, until we can find out what happened. Until we can find the King! I swear to you now, as a knight of Camelot, Merlin is no traitor! Let us find out what has happened to Arthur first, and then we will deal with this matter! "

The crowd was silent, perhaps in shame or perhaps in uncertainty. Fear was growing despite Leon's assurances. Neighbor looked at neighbor, wives and husbands exchanged frightened looks. The uncomfortable silence grew.

"Look, Mum," piped a tiny voice in the tension. "The plants are growing again!" Heads turned.

In the girl's hand was fistful of leaves, the fresh scent of them green in the air. She had tucked a flower in her hair and the child fairly skipped with excitement! "See, Mum! The trees are back too!"

Stunned once more into silence, alive with a different hope,the crowd now flooded from the room to walk into the village road. Cottage gardens were bright with flowers, the scent of herbs hung in the air. To their amazement and joy, the tender shoots of their crops were like a verdant mist over the dark earth. The trees were standing, lifting their leaves again. Praising the gods of luck, if there were any, Leon signaled Elyan and Percival to move Merlin out of the house and away from the crowd.

The knight of Camelot held his breath and hoped for the best.

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Far away in Camelot, Arthur was rousing. Neither Gaius nor Gwen had left his side, keeping vigil through four quiet hours, ignoring the young knight who now slouched on a stool, his hands still chained in manacles. The sun had risen a while ago, and the morning was still young, streaming it's white light into the physicians chambers. Gwen had not looked at him again throughout the time, that Arthur was unconscious. Now as he seemed to be rousing, she sent a stabbing look of assessment of him. Almost as if he was reading her mind, the old physician beckoned to Mordred and let him approach.

"Arthur will want to hear the story from you as soon as he is able," said Gwen. There was only the smallest tremor in her voice.

"Please, my Lady," he began, "There is much to say and not much time. I must return to the village as soon as I am able!" The Queen silenced him with a gesture.

"You brought the King here by magic." She did not question, she was stating a fact.

"Yes, my Lady."

"Was Arthur aware of what you did?"

"No," he responded softly. "No,my Lady. It was Merlin who begged my help. They had him chained and there was no way he could escape. In the confusion...

"He saved my life," rasped Arthur.

Heads turned. The king looked pale and grave, but his eyes indicated that he had been aware for at least a few moments. He took Gwen's hand in his own and motioned the knight to sit.

As Mordred sat, his heart lurching between joy and fear, he listened to their quiet expressions of joy. Gwen and Gaius spoke tenderly with Arthur, helping him to drink, making him more comfortable, bracing him up on pillows so that he could meet Mordred's eyes on level with his own.

Arthur had grunted involuntarily with pain, as they moved him, but there was no trace of discomfort in his face as he took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Merlin was chained to the attacker," said the King. He closed his eyes briefly. "He and the sorcerer fought as I tried to get away. Morded covered me after I was stabbed and rolled me to safety. I blacked out. How long? How many days," he questioned, looking up at Gaius, and then over to the knight. Mordred could not quite meet his eyes. "How did you get me here to Camelot?

"It has only been a few hours, since you were injured, Sire," said Gaius calmly.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Merlin," the king said softly. "Where is Merlin?"

"Merlin was captured, Sire. Gawaine was with him, but I can tell you no more than that. Leon, Elyan and Percival were still at the village at the time of the attack."

"How did you escape?"

"By magic, Sire."

Arthur looked up, doubt in his eyes. "With me?"

"Yes, Sire." Now the king said nothing.

Mordred let his words carry the him forward. He knelt by the side of Arthur's bed. "Merlin begged me, my Lord. He knew he could not escape and you were badly injured. He knew of my magic." He stopped himself, an agony of explanation longing to spill forth into a story. But he could not bear to make it worse.

"There was no other way to get you to safety, Sire!"

Mordred kept his eyes downcast, not able to meet Arthur's rejection of anger as he pleaded for understanding.

"Merlin knew you had magic?"

Mordred could not know or understand the sudden start of memory that seized Arthur in that moment, as he asked the question. The image of the child Arthur had known rose up, unfamiliar and strange, in the wake of that one word, magic. Somehow, he knew what Mordred would say next.

"Merlin knew from the first moment we met, Sire. But he took pity on me, your Majesty. I was only a frightened child; he helped me, and then Morgana..."

"She knew as well?"

"I think she only suspected, but she did not know of my magic until her own gift awoke later, Sire." It was hard to speak the truth without implicating Merlin. Guilt smote him and he began to understand the cost of keeping Merlin's secret.

Arthur closed his eyes again, as if in thought.

"That sounds like Merlin," murmured Arthur he said almost to himself. "To help a Druid child with magic, right under my father's nose. Without even telling me." He opened his eyes to look at Gaius and Gwen.

Merlin's mistrust of Mordred was well known to Arthur and had even led to some heated words between them. He recalled Merlin's reluctance to help the boy all those years ago. His servant's recent unwarranted suspicion of the young man since he had emerged as a knight of Camelot, now seemed well founded. It began to make sense, thought Arthur. It explained many things. And yet, Merlin had chosen to trust Mordred at a critical moment. A dangerous moment. Arthur's head began to hurt and he started to feel dizzy as he realized that Merlin was in terrible danger. In order to save Arthur, he had left himself at the mercy of the village. They would accuse Merlin of magic. They were probably doing so even at this very moment, as he lay in his Gaius' chambers recovering, trying to wrap his head around the contradictions and the betrayal of magic that now centered on Mordred. But the young Druid knight had saved his life again.

"Confine him to quarters," said Arthur. His voice seemed cold and angry. "I will speak with you again, Mordred." The implicit command in his voice did not hide the fear he saw in Arthur's clear blue eyes. The Druid knight could only nod silently, his heart in his mouth. He tried to hope for the best.


End file.
